


Linguistics of Love

by Anonymous



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:30:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's the things most vibrant that we find hardest to describe.





	Linguistics of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rillaelilz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillaelilz/gifts).



> Just a little something to the softest, most precious, gentlest and insanely talented Rillils.
> 
> In my head this was approvimately 700x cooler than it actually worked out - I'm so sorry :(

_Mudita._

If Fili had to pick a word, the _perfect_ word for Kili, it would be just that. It comes from Sanskrit and means: _pure joy unadulterated by self-interest. Joy in the good fortune of others_.

He stares at the letters solid and black on the page and thinks that it isn’t quite right, that _Kili’s word_ should stand out from the text, printed in lush greens and rich browns, golden amber and perhaps a dash of glitter.

It should be whimsical, like Kili is, and perhaps a little bit vulnerable, by carelessly pouring itself into every crevice of other people’s hearts to make a home there. It should be a word that nobody can ever erase or forget, bright and full of laughter, quiet moments, and just a hint of mischief.

Kili laughs when Fili tells him in the evening. It’s raining outside and they’re wrapped in each other’s breaths and tangled in each other’s hands, but they’re too cosy, too comfortable to tease out the moans or stray under the boundary of their shorts.

“I don’t know about the lack of self-interest,” Kili declares, nose pressed right into the sensitive skin behind Fili’s ear, making him shiver. “I can be very selfish.”

His hands and arms move like pilgrims along well-travelled trails covering of Fili’s torso, when he pulls him that tiny fraction closer, when he presses his own warmth flush to Fili’s back and fits in _perfectly_ along the backs of his thighs. But even in that Kili is kind and gentle and not at all like the brat he can be when he wants to be annoying.

“ _Caring_ ,” Fili corrects softly. “And protective. Even when you’re selfish, it’s because your heart cares and cannot stand the thought of not being able to continue doing so. You were never very good at letting go.”

“No, I suppose I wasn’t. “ Kili considers. “ _Stubborn_. That doesn’t feature anywhere in your fancy term.”

Fili smiles, slots his fingers between his brother’s because it’s so much like Kili to want to break out of the form and want to find something bespoke instead; a _custom_ Kili word.

“There are a hundred other words that _fit_ you, but none of them individually are truly yours. _Mudita_ at least stands out, like you stand out.”

“Such as what words?”

Fili would tell him, but like with unpacking presents, it requires being able to see the recipient’s reaction. So instead he flips around, disturbing their entire meticulously built nest, causing a distressed whine and a number of knee and elbow collisions.

“ _Delight. Kindness. Curiosity_.” Each one of the words punctuated by a soft press of lips against lips, which should perhaps be playful, but instead comes out serious, loving, searching. Kisses like questions, like waves welcoming shores they have long been parted from. “ _Exuberance_ and perhaps a touch of _wistfulness_. But none of them are bright enough, big enough to be your words.”

“Now now, Fili,” Kili murmurs low and molten with a curious kind of desire, but his cheeks have been caressed by the redness of ripe, sweet apples. “It’s only a simple, little heart you’re trying to describe. It doesn’t need all that grandeur. If anyone cared to listen, they’d think you are in love.”

“So let them listen,” Fili whispers close, _too close_ now to escape the currents the waves have caused.

He drowns in the tides of quiet adoration, happiness and eventually pleasure, all his words stolen and scattered by the four winds among the rocks.

 

xxxxx

 

Kili feels somewhat disadvantaged, having a degree in biology instead of linguistics, and not knowing any of the four languages Fili is fluent in, but it’s never stopped him trying to out-eloquent his brother before.

So some three days later, between one forkful of scrambled eggs and another, he carefully announces his own choice:

“ _Incandescence._ ”

Fili looks up over his reading glasses. “Hm?”

“Light produced by high temperatures. A soft glow. That’s your word.”

Fili tilts his head, the gesture so familiar, so ingrained in his natural Fili-ness, Kili suspects it might actually be written into his DNA somewhere. He repeats the word several times, testing out how it sits on his tongue, how it makes a home for itself in his ears.

“It makes me think of candles,” he announces eventually, his blue eyes soft and curious.

Kili pushes his empty plate away and moves to join Fili on the sofa, curling up comfortably in the vee of his legs. They don’t seek closeness because they need it; they seek closeness because for them it’s their natural state of being, because touch is just another dialect of their language.

“It makes me think of warmth,” Kili patiently explains. “And brightness, like a guiding light that shines through any storm. Because that’s what you do, Fili: you shine through the storms. You withstand them, you do the right thing, sometimes at the cost of burning yourself.”

Fili’s hands come to a stop where they’ve been rubbing small circles to Kili’s shoulder, telegraphing a question, consideration and perhaps a challenge. Kili looks up, meeting thoughtful eyes, slightly irregular arches of his eyebrows, and that one stubborn line between them, which is often Kili’s greatest enemy.

A blink of acknowledgement and Fili looks away. Kili lets him have it, picking up the thread of his reasoning instead.

“But you have heat in you too, Fee. Strength that inspires others and makes them look up to you for leadership. Passion and conviction, and –“

For a moment he’s stuck. He huffs and gets a kiss to the top of his head for his troubles. He knows what he wants to say, but words are like cautious butterflies: he can feel the flutter of their wings, but they never settle down.

“You know how a flame brings out shapes in the darkness? You do that with people. You bring out shapes, which they didn’t know were inside them. You give them detail and colour, curvature and complexity,” Kili tries to describe the term instead.

“It’s a high opinion indeed you’re making me have to live up to.” There’s laughter in Fili’s voice, gentle and good-natured, and Kili thinks that there’s proof enough of his theories even in this simple sentence of cautious denial.

“You’re my big brother. It’s your job to live up to my high opinions.”

“By that logic, it’s _your_ job as my little brother, to follow my _shining_ example.”

Kili pushes up and leans in for a kiss, familiar and a tiny bit smug, and he shamelessly licks it all off like drops of honey from Fili’s lips. Fili’s amusement and confidence have always been his most attractive features.

“My heart _does_ follow you,” he argues, his words pressed into the corners of Fili’s mouth, deposited with Fili for safekeeping.

“It’s only a simple, little heart…” his brother repeats Kili’s earlier words.

“But it’s yours.”


End file.
